


The Fire and the Flood

by PrincexPhoenix



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: But never really enemies, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff and Smut, Historical Inaccuracy, Historical References, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:34:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23154910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrincexPhoenix/pseuds/PrincexPhoenix
Summary: Crawley nodded and began to play, keeping his head down lest he see the look on Aziraphale’s face. His heart was in his throat, or his ears, pounding its own beat. Aziraphale sang, angelic voice lifting up and down in an ode to Her, even as he sang of love and loss. Crawley risked looking up at Aziraphale, and their eyes met. Crawley felt his all too human heart turn over in his chest at the surprised joy on Aziraphale’s face as he sang, and Crawley played.Or, five times they didn't say, "I love you."
Relationships: Crowley/Aziraphale
Comments: 9
Kudos: 59





	The Fire and the Flood

Aziraphale’s wings twitched as he watched the wind blow through the leaves of the apple tree. He was busy looking anywhere but at the Almighty’s new creations - humans.

“But why is it there?” the woman, Eve, asked. Her long, curly hair fell to the small of her back and each curl bounced as she turned her head to look at the tree. “Why is everything else in the Garden okay to eat, but not this?”

Aziraphale shrugged. “I suppose it’s all part of the Great Plan,” he said.

“It doesn’t make sense.” Eve crossed her arms and stared at him. “Haven’t you wanted to try it?” she pressed.

“Oh, well, you see, my dear lady, I don’t eat,” Aziraphale said.

“Is that part of the plan too?” Eve asked, rolling her eyes.

“It must be,” Aziraphale said. He frowned, sneaking a look at the apples. They did look rather tantalising, which Aziraphale imagined was rather the point of the whole thing. “Besides,” he added, “there’s plenty of fruit in the rest of the Garden.” He paused. “Right?”

“But why is this fruit forbidden?” Eve said. Adam rested a hand on her shoulder and she turned to him, her hands on her hips. “It’s a valid question,” she said.

“But maybe one that Aziraphale can’t answer,” Adam said, putting his arm around her.

Eve narrowed her eyes for a moment before relenting and resting against Adam. “Sorry,” she said, not looking sorry at all. She took Adam’s hand and led him out of the grove, casting one final look behind her at the tree. Then they were gone, leaving Aziraphale alone with nothing but bright red fruit for company.

There was a slight sound from next to him and he looked away from the apple tree. He half expected to see Michael, or Uriel, or another Archangel come to reprimand him. Instead, he saw a black creature slither from the bush. It flicked out a long, forked tongue and looked up at him with slit pupil eyes. It was legless, and armless, and covered with shining scales, quite unlike any other creature Aziraphale had seen in the Garden. The scales along the bottom of the creature were a striking red, contrasting the black scales along the top. The red almost looked like the apples, Aziraphale thought. He turned his attention from the creature back to the tree.

Soon, Aziraphale became aware that the creature was flicking out its tongue in rapid succession. Aziraphale turned to it with a smile. It stopped and gave a small, half-hearted hiss.

“You must be another creation of the Almighty,” Aziraphale said. 

He squatted down in front of the creature and offered it a hand. It slithered backwards and opened its mouth just enough to expose its fangs.

“You don’t have to be scared,” Aziraphale said. “I rather doubt you eat apples.” 

The creature tilted its head, almost as if it was listening. Encouraged, Aziraphale inched closer.

“I’ve never seen anything like you before,” Aziraphale continued. He reached out a finger to run along the creature’s head. It pulled back and Aziraphale paused. “Sorry,” he said. His hand dropped and the creature relaxed, drawing closer, eyes locked on Aziraphale. 

“Did Adam name you yet?” Aziraphale asked. 

The creature stopped and hissed. 

“No, I suppose not,” Aziraphale said. “I’m Aziraphale. What if I called you a serpent?”

The creature tilted its head. Aziraphale reached out again, and this time it stayed still, allowing Aziraphale to run his finger along its head. Aziraphale smiled then and repeated the gesture. The serpent leaned into it, tongue flicking in and out, eyes growing half lidded. Aziraphale lost track of how long he stayed there, crouching in the dew-covered grass.

“You must be hungry,” Aziraphale said. “What do you eat?” He turned away, and the serpent followed, looking every inch the innocent animal. “Do you eat?” Aziraphale asked.

The serpent tilted its head. It flicked its tongue in and out before winding around Aziraphale’s bare feet. Aziraphale smiled at the smooth, slippery feeling. The serpent inhaled, as if it was going to speak. 

“Rabbit!” Aziraphale cried triumphantly, and snapped his fingers. Aziraphale strode off into the forest, whistling something that could have passed for a tune. He came back and thrust a rather alive rabbit at the serpent. It blinked as the rabbit twitched its nose and stared at him. 

“You eat it,” Aziraphale said. “At least, I think you do,” he muttered. “I really don’t know if demons eat. Angels don’t eat, and we’re technically from the same stock, but maybe you eat?” Aziraphale encouraged, moving his hands to his mouth. “Take it,” he encouraged. 

The serpent stared at the rabbit and shifted its head back.

“Eat it,” Aziraphale said, his voice tinged with desperation. 

With great care, the serpent took the rabbit between its jaws and held it in place. The rabbit kicked, squealing in distress.

“Now you eat it,” Aziraphale said, his voice growing doubtful. 

The serpent stared at him before darting away, still holding the squirming and alive rabbit. Aziraphale sighed, rubbing his hands together and staring after it. He started to follow and stopped, remembering Michael’s warning. Instead, he turned and walked away, deeper into the Garden.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Crawley made his way to a secluded grove, still holding the rabbit in his jaws. He curled up on a rock bathed in a sunbeam and thought.

Causing trouble was his main job here in the Garden. Teasing an angel could be a rather fun way of doing it. It had the added benefit of annoying Archangels, and Crawley felt the satisfaction of a plan taking place. First, though, was the rather annoying case of the rabbit kicking in his mouth. He opened his jaws and deposited it on the ground. It hopped away a few steps uncertainly before stopping. Crawley stared at it and it stared back. Crawley inched forward and the rabbit stayed put. At last, Crawley opened his mouth and the rabbit’s back twitched, but it remained frozen. At last, Crawley hissed at it. It scurried away, disappearing into the forest, and Crawley basked in the sun, closing his eyes.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Something hissed nearby and brushed over his feet. Aziraphale looked down and started at the sight of the serpent. Its black scales shone in the sunlight. 

“Oh, hello,” he said and the serpent looked up at him. “You’re back.”

The serpent nodded once. “I am,” he said, for he did, at least, sound like a he to Aziraphale’s ears. 

Aziraphale blinked. “You can talk?” he said. 

The serpent looked amused, if such a thing could happen.

“Yes,” he said, the ‘s’ sound ending in a hiss. “I can speak. A rather neat trick, isn’t it?”

His forked tongue darted out and in. Aziraphale shrugged.

“I suppose you would,” he said. “The Almighty gifted us with tongues, and speech, after all.” 

“I have nothing to do with the Almighty,” the serpent said in a flat tone. “I’m a demon, after all.”

Old teachings of smiting and casting demons back down into Hell played out in Aziraphale’s head. He reached for his sword, hesitated, and dropped his hand. The demon watched him, narrow eyed, his odd, golden eyes shining in the sun.

“If you’re a demon, why are you here?” Aziraphale asked. He focused on the way the serpent circled around him, eyes glinting, always focusing on Aziraphale.

“You gave me a rabbit,” the creature said. “It was nice. Angels aren’t usually nice to my lot.” He shifted, looking a bit embarrassed.

“Yes, sorry about that,” Aziraphale said, crouching down. 

“Also,” the demon continued, “you seem to care about the humans.” His tail gestured in the direction Eve had departed. “I find you… interesting.” The demon turned his head around and brought out a bouquet of flowers, clasping it between his jaws.

“Oh,” Aziraphale breathed, holding out a hand. The demon deposited the flowers and slithered back, looking at Aziraphale warily. “Do you normally give angels flowers?” he asked, smiling.

The demon flicked out his forked tongue. “Possibly,” he hissed. 

Aziraphale looked down at the flowers. There were a couple of different varieties in the bundle, most likely picked from around the Garden, but Aziraphale had never seen them before. Eve and Adam wove flowers they found into circlets, but this was arranged differently, straight stemmed and proud.

“What kind of flowers are they?” Aziraphale asked, looking up. 

The demon flicked out his tongue again. “You’re not going to kick me out?”

“Not really my place, is it, kicking anyone or anything out,” Aziraphale said. “Or smiting,” he added.

“I’m a demon,” the serpent said, his voice dripping with cold and bitter sarcasm. “Isn’t that kind of your whole thing? Kicking demons out of God’s paradise?” He inched closer. “Smiting them?”

“Oh, I suppose. I mean, I could do those things, but I’m only meant to be guarding the Eastern Gate,” Aziraphale said, waving one hand eastwards. “Oh, and the apple tree, of course. Only, is it really all that important, apples?”

The demon tilted his head. “Apples?”

“Besides,” Aziraphale continued, “if you’re here, it must all be part of the plan of the Almighty, and I’m not going to meddle in Her plans.” He brightened at this and inhaled the scent of the flowers.

The demon ignored him. “I didn’t realise they gave out flaming swords to guard apples.”

Aziraphale shrugged. The demon was staring at him with those piercing golden eyes, studying him, and Aziraphale shifted his wings. 

“I haven’t seen any of these flowers in the Garden before,” he said.

The demon looked pleased. “They have names. Would you like to learn them?”

Aziraphale smiled. “Please,” he said. 

There was a light in the demon’s eyes as he slithered closer, pressing his nose against the flowers.

“These are bittersweet flowers, these are birds of paradise, these are coriander flowers, these are eucalyptus leaves, these are hibiscus flowers, and these are narcissus flowers,” he said. He touched each different type with his tongue and Aziraphale’s lips moved as he memorised the names. There was a pause and then the demon’s eyes darted away. “Do you like them?” he said.

“Yes,” Aziraphale said with a warm smile. “Thank you. They’re beautiful.”

“Don’t mention it. Really,” the serpent said, staring at the tree line. 

Aziraphale shifted and sat down. The demon slithered over, his head hovering above Aziraphale’s knee. Aziraphale waved a hand and the demon rested his head there and flicked out his forked tongue.

“So why are you here?” Aziraphale asked. “Trying to cause trouble?”

If demons could smile, Aziraphale would have imagined that this one was smiling. 

“Perhaps,” he said, drawing out the last syllable in a hiss. “Perhaps not. Maybe I was tired of being in Hell.”

“I imagine it’s not very pleasant,” Aziraphale agreed. The demon stared at him and Aziraphale blushed. “I mean, I’m sure it’s very pleasant, for you, but it wouldn’t be pleasant for me, since I’m an angel, and-”

“Do all angels babble when they’re embarrassed?” the demon asked and Aziraphale snapped his mouth shut. “You don’t have to stop,” he said.

“Is Hell pleasant? For demons, I mean?” Aziraphale asked. The demon made a couple of short hissing sounds, and Aziraphale realised he was laughing. Maybe he could smile then, Aziraphale thought. 

“Not really,” he answered. “Not like this, anyway. What about Heaven?”

Aziraphale toyed with his robe. “A bit cold, really,” he admitted. “I like it down here. But that’s because I like Adam and Eve, as well.”

The demon nodded once. “They do seem quite interesting. More interesting than angels and demons, anyway.” He lifted his head and looked westward. “Have you tried the food they eat yet?” he asked, eyes darting back to Aziraphale. “There’s an interesting patch of fruit by the western gate, if my memory serves me.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale said, and looked westward. “That’s not my area…” he trailed off.

“What’s wrong with a little exploring?” he asked. 

Aziraphale opened his mouth to protest and shut it. Adam and Eve did seem to enjoy the fruit in the garden, and Aziraphale was quite curious. Besides, duty aside, he wasn’t forbidden from any part of the Garden. Rather, he just had a specific area to patrol. That wasn’t the same thing at all, he thought.

“Oh, well,” Aziraphale said, “I suppose it couldn’t hurt. It’s just fruit, right?”

The serpent hissed in response, clear eyelids sliding over slitted eyes, before he slithered westwards. Aziraphale straightened and stared at the flowers in his hand, breathing in their scent. He smiled before following.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Aziraphale fretted, running a finger over the small marble in the palm of his hand. The contents inside the glass swirled in response to his touch, twinkling in the harsh sunlight of the desert. It was part of a vast nebula, condensed down into a keepsake that could easily be kept in a pocket, or placed on the altar of a home. He wondered, would Crawley like it? Not that it should matter, he thought, but only, well, Crawley had been kind enough to try and reassure him on the wall of Eden. Then again, it had been Crawley’s fault that Adam and Eve had to be exiled, but -

“Aziraphale?” Crawley’s voice said. Aziraphale jumped and turned, shoving the marble into his tunic. “What brings an angel like you to a place like this?” the demon asked, sitting cross legged on the sand. 

“I was, well, looking for you,” Aziraphale said. 

Crawley looked pleased. “Looking for me?”

“To thwart,” Aziraphale said, somewhat severely. “I heard you might have been planning a temptation out here.”

Crawley waved a hand in dismissal. “Details,” he said. “You were looking for me.” He beamed at Aziraphale, who gave a thin-lipped smile in response.

“Don’t take such pleasure in it,” Aziraphale said. “It’s my job to keep an eye on you.”

“Mmm,” Crawley said, patting the sand next to him. Aziraphale remained standing, shifting. An emotion much like disappointment flicked across Crawley’s face and then smoothed out into impassivity once more. “So what can I do for you, angel?” he asked. 

“Here,” Aziraphale said, tossing the marble into the air. Crawley reached out and snatched it before it could begin its downward descent towards him. 

“What is it?” Crawley asked.

“I read your file,” Aziraphale said. Crawley studied him and Aziraphale blushed. He seemed to do that a lot when he was around Crawley. Ever since the Garden, he blushed when he was around Crawley. He’d tried to make excuses; Crawley was a demon and used to pulling out that kind of reaction, Crawley was temptation incarnate, but in the end, Aziraphale came to the conclusion that he liked Crawley, and that liking sometimes brought heat to his cheeks.

“My file?” Crawley said. He turned the marble over in his fingers, raising it to one reptilian eye to peer into it. “What file?”

“Your Heavenly file,” Aziraphale said. Crawley’s eyes bore into him, the marble forgotten. Aziraphale shifted uneasily. “The one about who you were before you fell,” he said, lowering his voice to a whisper. 

Crawley’s expression went blank, and then cold. 

“Ah,” Crawley said in the tones of someone who just heard something foul and unspeakable. “Yes. That file.” He closed his hand around the marble. “So, come to check up on the fallen, have we?” Crawley stood, pacing a tight circle around Aziraphale. 

Like a snake encircling its prey, Aziraphale thought, turning on his heel to follow him. 

“Did you like what you read?” Crawley hissed. “A pity I don’t have a file on you, to pry into your past.”

“Not much there, I’m afraid,” Aziraphale said, offering a smile. It was met with thin lipped disapproval and he sighed. “It’s stardust,” he said. “From the nebula you designed.”

Crawley looked down at the small, round piece of glass in his hand. Long fingers curled around it and lifted it, again, to a reptilian eye. His pupil constricted as he studied it, and then expanded as he lifted it to the light and watched the stardust in the sunlight.

“What, you went out to a nebula to gather stardust?” Crawley asked.

“My side gave me a little bit of a holiday,” Aziraphale said. “A new initiative from Uriel. Holidays, that is. Something about giving angels a rest from their holy duties to keep them on the right path.” None of the other archangels had been very pleased with the concept, but Aziraphale had volunteered to test it. He had travelled to the edge of the universe after reading the file on Crawley, weaving stardust into the glass.

“Why?” Crawley said at last. “Why would you do this?”

Crawley was, Aziraphale decided, rather intense. There was a certain sharpness to Crawley’s gaze, one that could cut if Aziraphale wasn’t careful. The way he was being studied, as if cattle on the auction block, was decidedly unpleasant. But in that keen gaze there was also a fair amount of interest, and Aziraphale grew warm at the thought.

“Angel?” Crawley prompted, and Aziraphale started.

He smoothed his hands along his tunic and kept his eyes on the sand. “You were nice to me, on the wall,” Aziraphale said. “Demons aren’t usually nice to my lot.”

Crawley’s lips twitched. “You’re not really like other angels, though,” he pointed out. “Most angels would have smote me back in the Garden. Or in Mesopotamia. Or-”

“Yes, I get the point,” Aziraphale said. “I don’t really think that an angel should harm another living creature, though. Not really in the job description. At least, not mine. I’m a Principality. Not really a lot of smiting going on when you’re protecting people.”

“Good,” Crawley said, sitting back down and tucking the marble away. “I always thought the angels that enjoyed smiting took it all a little bit too seriously.” He eyed Aziraphale and then patted the sand next to him again. “Since you came all this way,” he said, “to thwart something that I wasn’t even planning, let’s at least have something to eat.” He paused. “Are you still eating, these days?”

Aziraphale hesitated. “I should be getting back,” he said, looking towards Rome. “Blessings to do, people to nudge.” He shrugged. “You know the deal.”

“Oh, surely you have at least an hour?” Crawley asked, waving a hand. A spread of fruits and cheeses appeared along with a cask of wine. “Maybe two,” he amended.

“Is that cheese from Nemausus?” Aziraphale asked, his eyes widening. His stomach rumbled in complaint, and he placed a hand on his stomach. “I haven’t had that kind of cheese yet,” he said, wistful.. 

Crawley nodded. “The best they have,” he said. “Some noble is going to be devastated,” he said with a degree of pride.

“And the wine?” Aziraphale asked. 

“Just wine,” Crawley said. “Although, I think it’s from Augustus’ personal stash. I could be wrong, though. It gets a little fuzzy, when you’re conjuring a number of things.”

Aziraphale sat across from Crawley. “A number of things?” he asked. He was about to pick up a wedge of cheese before he paused, a rather disturbing thought crossing his mind. “Did you plan this?” he asked. Crawley’s smile faltered. “You did!” Aziraphale said with a gasp.

“Angel,” he said, “do you really think that I spread rumours that I was out here in the desert, then put together a picnic, all in the hopes that you would hear about it and come to stop me?” He smirked. “And then sat out here, alone, waiting for you?”

“Probably not,” Aziraphale said at length, tearing his gaze away from the wedge of cheese he almost selected before. “So what were you planning out here?”

“Now, you know I can’t tell you that,” Crawley said. He held up a cup and Aziraphale nodded. “And you?”

“I told you, a couple of blessings, nudging people in the right direction,” Aziraphale said. “Small things, mostly. I think Gabriel has given up on Rome, for the most part.”

Crawley grunted. “Rome doesn’t seem like the kind of place your lot would enjoy,” he said. “Sin and temptation everywhere you look.” He poured the wine into the cup and passed it to Aziraphale, who took it with a smile. “Still, have to keep up the charade, right?”

“It’s not a charade,” Aziraphale said primly. “I really do want to help.”

“Right, angel,” Crawley said. 

Aziraphale frowned at the dark red liquid in his cup and drained it in a single gulp. 

“Seems like Rome is the wrong place to want to help,” Crawley added.

“Something big is going to happen here, I think,” Aziraphale said. 

He picked up a wedge of cheese and a fig. Crawley grinned, and poured Aziraphale another cup of wine. Then he poured himself a cup.

“Oh?” he drawled. Aziraphale looked up and scowled.

“Don’t try to tempt me into divulging my side’s secrets, Crawley,” he said. 

Crawley held up his hands. “No temptation of any sort,” he said. “Just a picnic with a demon, in the middle of the desert, to thank you for going to the far reaches of the universe for no reason other than to give me a gift.”

Aziraphale huffed and took a bite of the fig and the cheese together. He closed his eyes, the flavours washing over his taste buds. He was never going to get over taste buds. The salty creaminess of the cheese mixing with the sweetness of the fruit…

“Did you know,” Crawley said, taking a sip of wine, eyes watching Aziraphale eat, “that humans eat fruit to change the flavour of their semen?”

Aziraphale choked on his fig and cheese. “Crawley!” he said, blushing vivid red.

Crawley grinned. “It’s just a fact, angel.” He finished his wine. 

“I said no temptation, and you promised,” Aziraphale said.

“It’s not temptation, it’s imparting knowledge,” Crawley said. 

“Semantics,” Aziraphale said.

“Semantics are everything, angel. A lot can change in a few words,” Crawley said. “Could be the difference between tempting someone to steal an ox, or tempting them to kill a senator.”

“That’s awfully specific,” Aziraphale said. “Have you been doing a lot of both?”

Crawley frowned. “No.” He tilted his head. “Well, maybe one ox. Oxen?”

“That’s the plural,” Aziraphale said absently. He took another, more cautious bite of the fig and the cheese. Crawley was watching him again with that intense gaze, and Aziraphale jumped to his feet. “I should go,” he said. “Blessings. Nudging.” He was blushing again and wrung his hands.

“I’ll see you next time, Aziraphale,” Crawley said. Aziraphale picked up on the disappointment this time and felt an answering surge of disappointment inside of him. He hesitated, took another piece of cheese, and vanished.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Crawley was being sent a commendation for a job well done, and an order to take some steps to start planning a new way to make the lives of humans miserable - specifically, a certain political group in Rome. Crawley had a few ideas already, but was glad for the direction. It was tiring, constantly meddling in the affairs of humanity, and draining on his imagination. They tended to create their own misery, anyway; sometimes he just sat back and watched, and reaped the benefits.

That was why he was here now, in a seedy tavern in the heart of Rome. There were rumours flying around that a senator was likely to wander into this particular tavern, and the head office wanted his soul. Crawley thought they already had it, but Satan wasn’t one for leaving things up to chance. He lifted a glass to his lips and took a swallow of the sour wine.

“Crawley?” someone said, and Crawley frowned. Not here, too. Couldn’t the angel just let him be? He pulled his hood over his face and took another sip of wine. “Crawley, it is you, isn’t it?”

Crawley scowled as Aziraphale slid into the seat across from him, gleaming white and elegant. And beautiful. “You stick out like a sore thumb, angel,” he muttered irritably. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Aziraphale said. There was a tense silence between them that Aziraphale broke. “Are you here for the senator?”

Crawley drained his cup and placed it between them. “I guess he’s more important than I thought,” he muttered.

“Yes,” Aziraphale said, rather distantly. 

Aziraphale waved the server over and she brought him some wine. He took it and his fingers brushed hers. She flinched backwards and Crawley’s scowl deepened. One look at Crawley’s face and the server turned pale. She rushed away, and Aziraphale looked after her, blinking.

“Oh, dear, I hope she’s okay,” he said.

“I’m sure she’s fine,” Crawley said, struggling to keep jealousy from his voice and failing. Aziraphale looked at him and Crawley smiled tightly. “It’ll be a warm night for her.”

Aziraphale looked politely blank. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.” He took a sip of the wine and made a face. “A bit sour, isn’t it?”

“Not your usual scene, is it, a seedy tavern,” Crawley said, hissing out the sibilant syllables. “I bet you’re usually rubbing elbows with the elite.”

Aziraphale shifted. “I go where I’m directed,” he said. 

Crawley nodded and sat back, folding his arms. 

“If we’re both here, then who’s going to speak to the senator tonight?” Aziraphale asked.

“I was here first,” Crawley pointed out.

“I’m supposed to stop your lot from taking him,” Aziraphale countered.

Crawley’s ears picked up the sound of multiple citharas being tuned, and he smirked.

“I’ll play you a cithara for it,” he said. “Whoever gets the most applause wins. And,” he added, “no miracles.”

“I wouldn’t cheat,” Aziraphale said and Crawley just grinned. “I haven’t played a cithara,” he said. 

Crawley paused, tapping the table. “Then let me teach you,” he said, dropping his voice as he did when he wanted to tempt a human. 

Aziraphale opened his mouth to speak and Crawley stared at him, unblinking, and Aziraphale scowled. Satan bless it, even when he was scowling, the angel was… interesting. Radiant, really, his brain supplied. Now it was Crawley’s turn to scowl, at himself.

“I thought I asked you not to tempt me,” Aziraphale said, unable to hide the hurt in his voice. “It won’t work, anyway.”

Crowley relented. “Fine. Let me teach you?” he asked by way of apology. “I’ll let you have the senator tonight.”

Aziraphale looked towards the stage, where the performers were starting to take their spots, their citharas in prominent view. The senator had entered and was looking around furtively before taking a spot at a table in the back, staring hungrily at one of the performers. “Oh, go on then,” he said.

“Tomorrow night?” Crawley asked, rising. “By the Aqua Augusta.”

“Why there?” Aziraphale asked.

It’s romantic, Crawley wanted to say. It was private, and closed, and reserved for the elite. “It’s close to where I live,” he said instead. “Two citharas is a bit of a weight, angel.”

“I could meet you at yours,” Aziraphale said. “That way, you would only have to carry one.”

Crawley wondered if God was having a go at him again. Aziraphale was so damnably earnest. “That’s alright, angel,” he said. “I can handle it.” 

He smiled and, for once, it lacked his usual sharpness. Aziraphale smiled back.

“Then I’ll see you tomorrow,” Aziraphale said. He turned his attention to the senator and Crawley left the pub, hands tucked into the folds of his robe, debating where to steal two citharas.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Stealing the citharas had been, in fact, a bit of a debacle. Crawley tried to steal one, succeeded, and then failed in stealing the second one. Then the guards came with shortswords, and Crawley used up a fair bit of demonic miracles in order to escape. He spent the rest of the afternoon daydreaming about the idea of sitting behind Aziraphale, pressed against him, teaching him how to coax music out of the strings.

That occupied him until he was on the Aqua Augusta, pacing back and forth, the cithara tucked underneath his arm. He scanned the streets, hoping for a glimpse of platinum hair. The night stretched on and he was beginning to think he had been stood up. Crawley almost laughed at that. Being stood up, by an angel, as if he were a human meeting for a clandestine rendezvous.

“Crawley?”

Crawley turned, his heart beating in his throat, catching sight of Aziraphale leaning over the aqueduct’s ledge. 

“Be careful,” he said, and cursed to himself as Aziraphale looked at him, bemused.

“I’m not going to fall,” Aziraphale said. He did ease back onto the flat of his feet and Crawley let out a weary sigh. “You only have one,” Aziraphale said. 

Crawley nodded and sat on the edge of the aqueduct, crossing his legs. He placed the cithara on his lap.

“I couldn’t find another one,” he lied. 

Aziraphale lifted his eyebrows. “You mean, you couldn’t steal one,” he said. 

Crawley paused, eyes narrowing. “You didn’t.”

“Well, it is my job,” Aziraphale said. “Thwarting you, that is.”

Crawley frowned. Internally, he was trying his best not to read a thousand different ways Aziraphale could have done it so that they would have to share a cithara. The angel had made it quite clear what he thought of Crawley’s attempts. Still, there was something too innocent about the way that Aziraphale was smiling at him. For Hell’s sake, Aziraphale’s eyes were twinkling.

“Well, you succeeded,” Crawley said. “I only got one.”

“Yes, I see,” Aziraphale said. He eyed the instrument. “Will you play for me?” he asked, wistfully. Crawley swallowed once.

“I’m supposed to be teaching you here,” Crawley pointed out with a small frown. “Not performing. I’m not a monkey.”

“No,” Aziraphale agreed. “You’re a mighty serpent, poised to strike.”

Crawley narrowed his eyes. “Is that how you see me?”

Aziraphale shrugged. “Isn’t it the truth?”

“I wouldn’t strike you,” Crawley muttered. Aziraphale said nothing, gazing out at the water, and Crawley began to think that his words went unheard. But then Aziraphale smiled at him, and it was a soft smile, and Crawley’s heart turned over in his chest.

“Please?” Aziraphale asked. “I’ll learn, but I want to hear what it’s supposed to sound like first.”

Crawley wondered, very briefly, what Beelzebub or Hastur would do if they found him acquiescing to the request of an angel. Probably, Crawley thought, throw him in one of the deepest pits of Hell for a thousand years and taunt him for being an improper demon. Not that it even mattered to Crawley whether he was a proper demon or not. In fact, Crawley was sure that the only thing that mattered to him was the way Aziraphale was looking at him, expectant, lips slightly parted. Never moving his eyes from Aziraphale, Crawley began to play, plucking at the strings.

“Oh,” Aziraphale said with a sigh. He leaned forward, closing his eyes, seeming to sink into the sound. “How long have you known to play?”

“I was there when they invented string instruments,” Crawley said. His fingers moved deftly along the strings, pulling out a melancholy tune. “One of the humans taught me.”

“You never told me,” Aziraphale said.

Crawley lifted a shoulder into a shrug. His fingers twitched and he changed the melancholy tune into a more cheerful one. It was the melody to a rather bawdy tune that was sung in the kinds of places that Crawley spent his time. He was surprised, but not displeased, to see that Aziraphale was blushing again. “You know this one?”

“Hard not to,” Aziraphale said. He smiled at Crawley, and Crawley smiled back, feeling happy for the first time since eating cheese and fruit, and drinking wine in the desert. He switched tunes again, this time playing one from a song about love. It was soft, and used more of the high notes, and Crawley concentrated on the way he plucked at the strings. Time passed that way, he staring intently at the cithara, Aziraphale looking out over the water, the breeze playing with his hair. Crawley snuck small glances, admiring the dreamy look on Aziraphale’s face, the way the angel tilted his head appreciatively.

Then Aziraphale began to sing along, his voice a stark contrast to the tuneless whistling Crawley had once heard in the Garden. His fingers hit a sour note and he stopped. It took Aziraphale a moment to stop as well, and look over, eyebrows raised.

“You didn’t tell me you could sing,” Crawley said. “The last time I heard anything from you, it was terrible whistling.”

“We all sang our eternal love for Her,” Aziraphale said. “At least once.” He pursed his lips. “Whistling is more difficult. Uses a lot more of the lips, and in such strange ways”

Crawley studied Aziraphale’s lips for a moment longer than he meant to. He looked down at his instrument. “Would you like to,” he started, then grimaced and waved his hand.

“To what?” Aziraphale asked. Crawley scowled.

“Would you like to sing while I play?” Crawley said. Aziraphale hesitated for the briefest of moments before smiling and nodding. He sat beside Crawley, who nearly fell into the water when Aziraphale’s fingers brushed his own. “You know that song,” Crawley said somewhat faintly. “How does that sound?”

“Fine,” Aziraphale said. Crawley nodded and began to play, keeping his head down lest he see the look on Aziraphale’s face. His heart was in his throat, or his ears, pounding its own beat. Aziraphale sang, angelic voice lifting up and down in an ode to Her, even as he sang of love and loss. Crawley risked looking up at Aziraphale, and their eyes met. Crawley felt his all too human heart turn over in his chest at the surprised joy on Aziraphale’s face as he sang, and Crawley played.

Satan bless it, he thought, he was the one in trouble.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Aziraphale awoke to a crashing against his door. He sat up, his hand finding his sword and clutching the hilt of it. Silence reigned, thick and oppressive in the black of night. He nearly summoned a ball of light and stopped himself. The only sound he could hear was his own breathing that was as harsh and quick as his heartbeat. He took a deep breath and released his grip on his sword. He shouldn’t have been asleep anyway, he thought to himself as he swung his feet out of the bed. It was a human habit, and he was meant to be above all of that. Of course, it was a human habit he was getting rather fond of. In fact, his eyes were drooping as he thought, and he let out a small yawn, plumping his pillow with a hand.

There was another crashing noise and this time he jumped to his feet and grabbed his sword, pulling it out of its sheath. “I am Sir Aziraphale, of the Table Round,” he called out. “Who are you, and why are you trying to break my door down in the middle of the night?”

There was more silence and then, to his enormous surprise, a familiar voice said, “Angel, it’s me. Let me in.”

“Crowley?” Aziraphale asked, opening the door. Crowley all but fell in, and blood stained the front of his clothes. “Crowley, what - “

“Less talking, angel,” Crowley snapped. “This isn’t a special effect, I’m really bleeding out, and I’d hate to ruin your nice deerskin rug.”

Aziraphale helped him into the bed and Crowley bit back a gasp, his hands pressing against the blood stain along his chest. “Why haven’t you healed yourself?” Aziraphale asked, reaching out a hand to lift Crowley’s tunic. Crowley scowled and slapped it away.

“Yes, of course,” he said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Why didn’t I think of healing myself? Really, I most definitely prefer walking through the forest towards my sworn enemy’s hovel while holding my bloody insides.”

Aziraphale frowned. “Why are you here?” he asked.

“I need a favour,” Crowley said, and coughed into his hand. He glared at it and wiped it off on his tabard. Ice was flowing through his veins at the sight of it. “I got jumped by some pricks. Something about exorcising demons throughout the land, or what have you.”

“There has been an increase in holy works,” Aziraphale said. “Or, what they call holy works,” he said, somewhat unhappily. “I think you’re probably the first actual demon that fell victim to these roving bands of scoundrels.” He kneeled in front of Crowley and reached his hand out again. This time, Crowley only watched it through slit eyes, panting as Aziraphale’s hand lifted the tunic to expose a vicious cut along Crowley’s chest. Aziraphale could feel the holy energy pouring out of it and winced.

“I can’t heal it on my own,” Crowley said, and Aziraphale nodded once. Crowley swallowed and looked away, staring out of the window into the darkness. “I know we just fought about twenty years ago, but I could use your help with it,” he said. “Would you - “

“Of course,” Aziraphale said. He hesitated before touching Crowley’s chest, right over the wound. The flesh was hot to the touch, the evidence of an infection looming. Crowley hissed, fingers clutching around the bedsheets, a sheen of sweat appearing on his forehead. “Sorry,” Aziraphale said. “Crowley, this was from close range. Surely, you would have seen them coming long before - “

“Angel,” Crowley interrupted, “I know this seems like something you would think I enjoy, but it’s actually quite painful. I don’t usually love walking around with angelic energy pouring out of me, so can you please, for the hate of Satan, get on with it?”

Aziraphale pressed his lips together and looked down, concentrating on the wound. The holy energy was buried quite deep, he found, and had already started to spread through Crowley’s body. He broke out into a sweat as he coaxed it back through muscle fibres and veins towards the ragged lips of the wound. It responded sluggishly, reluctant to stop its work on deconstructing Crowley piece by piece. Aziraphale closed his eyes, envisioning Crowley’s body before him, all of the sinew and bone that comprised the human form, and pressed in a little on the wound. Crowley hissed again, his hand wrapping around Aziraphale’s wrist and squeezing, leaving what Aziraphale knew would be bruises in the morning, if he let them.

In the end, the holy energy did respond, and soon Aziraphale held a ball of burning white light in his palm. He took a step away from Crowley and, eyes glowing, inhaled. The white light siphoned itself away from the ball in his hand into his mouth, until it was gone and they were left in the darkness. Aziraphale exhaled, a small mist of holy power lighting the room briefly before his eyes adjusted to the darkness again. Crowley was sitting upright, the wound already sealed, and was in the process of pulling down his tunic. Aziraphale stopped him and Crowley twisted away.

“I’m fine now,” he said. There was an uncomfortable silence and he added, “you don’t have to worry about me anymore, angel.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said, “you should have been able to avoid them.”

Crowley scowled and stood. “I told you I was jumped.”

“You could have stopped time,” Aziraphale said. “You could have performed a miracle and sent them somewhere else. For Heaven’s sake, Crowley, you very simply could have just not sought them out. What the devil were you thinking?”

A humourless laugh tore out of Crowley. “What’s wrong, angel, jealous?” he sneered. “Don’t worry, I haven’t gone replacing you as my enemy yet. There will be plenty of chances for us to tangle.” 

“I don’t care about that,” Aziraphale snapped. He ignored the way Crowley was looking at him, exasperation and something else, more hidden. Aziraphale’s temper was beginning to fray. Images of Crowley lying in a forest somewhere, holy energy destroying him, too far away for Aziraphale to help flashed through his mind. “I care that you could be destroyed, doing something foolhardy!”

“I’ll be fine,” Crowley muttered. “It’s not your problem, is it?”

Aziraphale blocked Crowley’s path to his door and the demon scowled, drawing himself up to his full height. Aziraphale planted his feet and glared up at Crowley. “What if the next time, you get hurt too far away for me to help?”

“Then you’ll go back to Heaven and tell them that I’m dead, and you’re free to continue blessing the land in King Arthur’s name,” Crowley said. “It’s a bonus, really, for you.”

Aziraphale shook his head. “Do you really think I would be happy if you were dead?”

Crowley’s eyes widened. He hissed out a breath and his scowl deepened. “Wouldn’t you be?” he asked.

“Of course not,” Aziraphale said. “We - we’ve,” he stopped. Emotions burned in his chest, and he looked at his feet. “I wouldn’t be happy if you died,” he said at last.

There was silence as the seconds ticked past them. Aziraphale kept his gaze on the floor, but he knew that Crowley was staring at him. He looked up and met Crowley’s eyes. There was something lurking in the depths of them. Hope, Aziraphale would have thought if he hadn’t known better.

Crowley slumped and ran his fingers through his hair. “I was here to do a simple temptation. On my way back to where I’m staying, I saw these two men. They were knights, or at least, they had been knighted by someone. They were waving the banner of King Arthur.” He sat down on the bed. “I followed them. I thought maybe one of them was you. But something was wrong. Their swords were almost painful to look at, even through the sheaths. Like there was some glow to them.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I kept following them. The two of them approached an abandoned cottage, where a man was farming. Or tending to the animals. I don’t know. Human things.

“I watched as they approached the farmer,” Crowley said. “They all spoke, about what, I don’t know. Then one of them just - he stabbed the man, Aziraphale.”

“What?” Aziraphale asked, horrified. “No, that can’t be right. Your eyes, they must have been playing tricks on you, or maybe you looked away and missed something-”

“Oh, yes,” Crowley said. “Like I missed when they walked into the house. Like I missed the fact there was a mother and her children. Two kids, Aziraphale, and the knights lifted their swords. You’re right, I must have missed the reason why.” 

Aziraphale swallowed and closed his eyes against a rush of tears. “What did you do?” he asked, opening his eyes again, unable to look away from Crowley.

“I couldn’t let them. So I stopped them.” Crowley’s smile was sharp. “They won’t find their bodies, although I expect you will have to explain quite a few rumours to your head office about a snake headed demon who eats souls.”

“You ate their souls?” Aziraphale asked. 

Crowley frowned. “Something like that,” he said. “It’s more like I cast them down to Hell.” His sharp smile widened, exposing fangs. “I had no idea they were on your side. Should have expected it. Holy warriors and all.”

“They are not on my side,” Aziraphale said. Crowley’s lips twitched into another humourless smile.

“Probably not yours,” he agreed. “But Heaven’s? Definitely on their side. Holy energy like that doesn’t just come from nowhere.”

“Heaven would never sanction such things,” Aziraphale said.

“All of the miracles that you’ve done,” Crowley said, “and you haven’t paid attention to the rest of the world, have you. Humans have been slaughtering each other in the name of religion since the invention of religion, angel.”

“I know that,” Aziraphale said. “I’ve tried to stop them.”

Crowley paused and then smiled, a rare, genuine smile. One that he only ever seemed to smile when he was with Aziraphale. “Of course you have, angel.”

Aziraphale shifted, looking at his feet. “Please,” he said, changing the subject. “Stay here tonight, so I can make sure there’s no holy energy left in your wound.”

“I can’t.” Crowley gently knocked their shoulders together as he walked past Aziraphale towards the door. “Stay safe out there, angel.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said. Crowley paused, head resting against the door, a hand on the doorknob.

“Yes?”

“If you stay,” Aziraphale tried one last time, “I can put the fire on, and make a cup of tea. You can rest here.” He hesitated. “I can take care of you.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Crowley said, sounding tired. 

“Surely you have an hour,” Aziraphale said with a small smile. “Maybe two.”

Crowley laughed, and this time it was soft, and a piece of Aziraphale twisted in response. “I shouldn’t, angel,” he said, turning back, resting against the door. Aziraphale swallowed at the expression on Crowley’s face. “Neither of us should.”

“It’s just make sure you don’t die,” Aziraphale said, his throat tight and his eyes aching. He rubbed at them and Crowley stepped forward, catching Aziraphale’s hands. Aziraphale remained still. “It’ll do more than discorporate you. It will kill your essence as well,” he said.

“That’s not going to happen,” Crowley said. His thumbs rubbed small circles over Aziraphale’s knuckles before releasing them as if burned. He took a few steps back, hands by his side. “Sorry.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said and Crowley held up a hand.

“Thanks for helping me,” Crowley said, and opened the door and vanished into the night. Aziraphale stood in the centre of his house and stared out into the darkness, the wind blowing past him and shifting his curls. He took a step forward, and then another, and closed the door with a sigh.

He looked at his ruined bedsheets with some dismay and, in the end, threw them into the fireplace and slept on the bare mattress.

The next morning, as he walked outside, he almost trod on a bouquet of flowers and a small book, wet with the dew of the morning. He first looked at the flowers and noticed a small note, the handwriting achingly familiar. He picked it up and read it.

“Forget me nots, eucalyptus, white roses, fennel, and lavender,” he read. He picked up the book next, retreating back indoors, miracling a vase filled with water to place the flowers in. He sat down on the bed and opened the book, his eyes widening as his fingers traced the delicate, spidery scrawl of Crowley’s handwriting.

“For my angel,” he read aloud, and snapped the book closed. He sat in silence, his heart pounding, as the sunlight danced through the window and illuminated the flowers to an ethereal glow.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The halls of Heaven were silent, the windows showcasing the man made wonders of the world. Aziraphale drew in a breath and opened the door to Michael’s office, walking in. She was seated at her desk, flipping through a book, not even looking up at him. Aziraphale waited a few beats for the sake of politeness before he spoke.

“How many wars have been fought in the name of God?”

Michael sighed and looked up from the book she was reading. “What’s that, Principality Aziraphale?” she asked. 

He looked down at his feet, shuffling them. “Holy wars. How many of them have been waged in Her name?”

Michael shut the book with a snap and it vanished. “Why?”

“I intercepted a couple of humans pretending to use Her name in order to terrorise people,” Aziraphale said. “Their weapons had been blessed.” Michael stared at him blankly and Aziraphale continued, “By an angel?”

“What are you asking me?” Michael asked, standing. 

“Are we ramping up to a war in Her name?” Aziraphale asked. “Have you been blessing the weapons of humans?”

“If I was,” Michael said, “it would be on Her orders.”

“But if they’re hurting other humans,” Aziraphale said, “would that be-”

“Principality,” Michael said and Aziraphale stopped speaking. “I understand your concern. However, as you’re aware, humans have free will.” She pierced him with her steely blue gaze. “What they do once their weapons are blessed, on Her orders, is not for us to determine. It is all planned.”

“But they’re hurting people in Her name,” Aziraphale said. “Taking Her name in vain.”

“And if She sees fit to punish them,” Michael said, “She will.” The book reappeared in her hands and she opened it. It was a clear dismissal but Aziraphale didn’t leave. Couldn’t leave. He stood, hands clasped behind him, looking awkwardly at the Archangel in front of him. Michael sighed again. “Yes, Aziraphale?”

“Do you know anything about human love?” Aziraphale asked. “As in, love between two humans?”

Michael looked him over, smiling a little. “Yes,” she said, her gaze going over his shoulder. “Lying with a human is solely a dalliance. Their lives are too fleeting to be anything more.”

“What about between two angels?” Aziraphale said. Michael looked at him. “Or two demons?”

“Demons aren’t capable of love,” Michael said immediately. “And angels are beings of love. We all love each other.”

“But not like humans,” Aziraphale said.

“Would you want to?” Michael said. “Wars have been fought over the concept of love in the way that you mean.”

“Wars have been fought over hate, too,” Aziraphale said. “What would happen if an angel did fall in love, the way humans do? Or a demon?”

“Again, demons aren’t capable of love,” Michael said. 

“Hypothetically,” Aziraphale said.

She sighed. “I don’t know what Hell would do, but we’d probably bring that angel back for retraining,” Michael said. “See why it happened, and remind them that all angels are beings of love, and don’t fall in love with humans.”

“Humans,” Aziraphale echoed, weakly. “Right.” 

“Is there something you want to tell me, Aziraphale?” Michael asked. Aziraphale jumped and shook his head.

“No, Archangel Michael,” he said. “Nothing.”

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Let’s stop them.”

Crowley looked up from his drink, fixing the angel with a stare. Strangely, there were two of them now, wavering in front of him, both of them frowning and serious. “What?”

“The crusaders,” Aziraphale said. He leaned forward and stopped, swaying a bit. He was drunk, Crowley thought fondly. “We ought to stop them, right?”

“Angel,” he said, “you’re drunk.”

Aziraphale scowled. “So are you.”

“True,” Crowley said. He raised his glass. “Salutaria.”

“Listen,” Aziraphale said, clinking his glass to Crowley’s. “You almost got murdered by - by - by jerks!”

“Jerks?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale said, jabbing his finger in Crowley’s face. “Jerks. We’re going to stop all of them crusading in Her name.” He nodded once and sat back.

“We?” Crowley said. He finished his drink, licked his lips, and said goodbye to his drunkenness. He squeezed his eyes shut and sobered up. There was a foul, metallic taste on his tongue and he grimaced. “That’s better. Now, what are you going on about?”

“Michael thinks it’s all planned, right, humans hurting other humans in Her name,” Aziraphale said. Slurred, really. “But I don’t think humans should be hurting other humans. I mean, Adam and Eve would never have hurt anyone.”

“Cain literally murdered Abel,” Crowley pointed out. Aziraphale opened his mouth and shut it, momentarily deflated. “Look, I don’t think you’re entirely wrong,” Crowley said in a rush, “but what do you expect us to do about it?”

“We can go on a quest together,” Aziraphale said, smiling. Crowley’s heart turned over in his chest at the sight of it. “We can go and unbless weapons.” He frowned. “Curse them? Unholify them? Desanctificate them? Make them not holy anymore,” he finished. “That way, they won’t be able to hurt anyone!”

“Swords hurt humans whether or not they’re holy, angel,” Crowley said.

“But then you wouldn’t get hurt, and they would think they were doing the wrong thing, and they would stop,” Aziraphale said. Crowley, who hadn’t heard past the first third of Aziraphale’s sentence, felt butterflies in his stomach. “Come on, we don’t have to ride any horses. We can be wandering minstrels. Or thieves. You’d like being a wandering thief.”

Crowley took a risk and put his hand on Aziraphale’s. The last time he had was a bit fraught. Aziraphale paused in his ramblings and looked up at Crowley. “Maybe you should sober up,” Crowley suggested. “Then you can ask me to go on a century or so long quest to sabotage holy wars.”

Aziraphale scowled. “Fine,” he said. He closed his eyes and, to Crowley’s disappointment, withdrew his hand. He also grimaced. “My dear.”

“Yes, angel?” Crowley’s heart flipped over again..

“Let’s go on a century or so long quest to sabotage holy wars.”

Crowley grinned. 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Aziraphale stared at the corner store, his hands clasped behind him, a serene sort of peace inside of him. He had travelled to the different corners of the world, had seen the rise and fall of empires, and still, this was the happiest he had been. His eyes lingered on the maroon paint that offset the gold lettering of the name of his business, “A Z Fell and Co.” Inside were walls and walls of bookcases. Though empty as of now, ready to be filled with all sorts of books, from all parts of the world, in all the different languages and genres humanity had invented. Of all the things that humans had invented, books were one of the most marvelous, in Aziraphale’s opinion. 

He took a deep breath and stepped inside, the door closing behind him with a gentle click. The inside of the bookshop was bare, and he ran his fingers along the benchtops. 

“A bit empty for a bookshop, don’t you think?”

Aziraphale jumped, and turned. Crowley was slouched in the doorway, holding a canvas bag and flowers. “Sorry, angel,” he said with a smirk. “Didn’t realise you were lost in such deep thought.”

“You have to knock,” Aziraphale said. “This isn’t the Bastille.”

“No, you do have a decided lack of manacles around your wrists,” Crowley said. He stood straight. “Want me to go outside and knock?”

“No,” Aziraphale said. Crowley grinned and proffered the flowers and the bag. Aziraphale took it, smiling at the arrangement. “What kinds are these?”

“Red carnations, yellow tulips, anemones, and eucalyptus,” Crowley said.

“You know,” Aziraphale said, “humans invented a language using flowers. I must admit, my dear, I’ve yet to get the hang of it. Terribly complicated. I suspect I was too busy enjoying other parts of humanity.”

“I’m sure it would’ve been far more complicated if they’d come up with it on their own,” Crowley said tartly. “I spent a whole week coming up with it.”

“Ah,” Aziraphale said, and looked down at the bundle of flowers in his hand. “Of course you did. So what do these mean?”

Crowley’s ears were red. “Look in the bag,” he said, averting his eyes as he sat on one of the benches and waved. Aziraphale placed the flowers into the resulting vase, placing the bag down as he fussed over them. “Angel,” Crowley groaned, “they’re just flowers. I only made the language up to annoy humans.”

“But it didn’t annoy them,” Aziraphale said. “Most humans have taken to it quite well.”

“Not one of my finer moments,” Crowley said. “It was supposed to make communication more complicated. You know, breed misunderstandings, the end of relationships because someone sent the wrong colour rose, that sort of thing. In the end, the head office wasn’t too pleased with the effort.” He gestured, scowling. “The bag.”

Aziraphale huffed and sat in a chair, picking up the canvas bag. Crowley propped his elbows on his thighs and watched, expression unreadable behind his sunglasses. Aziraphale lifted one of the books and his eyes widened, running across the delicate golden stitching that contrasted against the deep maroon of the hardcover. “Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale said. “It’s - “

“Hamlet,” Crowley said. “And Macbeth, King Lear, Antony and Cleopatra, Julius Caesar, Othello, Romeo and Juliet, Timon of Athens, and Titus Andronicus. Shakespeare’s gloomy ones. All original copies, penned by his own hand, and signed by him.” 

“When did you get them?” Aziraphale breathed, placing them on his desk’s bookshelves, admiring the way the sun glinted off the gold and deepened the maroon. They rested beside another book, well thumbed through, pages stuck in between faded and frayed fabric. 

“Oh, does it matter?” Crowley asked, hopping down. “Come on, show me around. This has been about a hundred years in the making, right? I want to see what Heaven on Earth is for you.”

Aziraphale smiled, snapping his fingers behind his back. Reality warped itself for him and he extended an arm. “Shall we?”

“I thought you would never ask,” Crowley said, taking Aziraphale’s arm. Aziraphale found himself focusing on the touch to the exclusion of anything else.The day shrank down to the warmth of Crowley’s hand on his arm. He was about to put his hand over Crowley’s when he thought better of it and stepped away instead.

“Through here,” he muttered, walking through the empty bookshop. Crowley sauntered behind him, slower.

“It’s a little small,” Crowley said and stopped an inch from Aziraphale.

“It used to be a bit bigger, but I thought it could use a garden,” Aziraphale said, gesturing to the door. Crowley raised his eyebrows, looked down at the angel, and smirked.

“A garden? Feeling a little nostalgic, are we?” Crowley asked, turning the doorknob..

“Just look,” Aziraphale said. Crowley turned and stepped through the door. He stopped, gazing at the way the sun seemed to magically - miraculously - fall through a domed, windowed ceiling only to land golden upon a rock emerging from a carpet of green. Crowley walked over to it and placed a hand on the stone. 

“Do you like it?” Aziraphale asked. Crowley didn’t respond. Instead, he sprawled, undignified, on the rock and waved a languid hand. “I’ll put on some cocoa,” Aziraphale said, shutting the door behind him.

There was something heavy between them, and when Aziraphale came back, he was as quiet as Crowley. They sat in silence there, in the garden, as they once had before, everything unsaid between them hanging like ripe, poisonous fruit. Aziraphale wanted very badly to reach out and take Crowley’s hands again, and pull him close, on top of him, the sun at their backs…

Aziraphale broke the silence first with a shift and a delicate cough.

“Thank you, my dear, for the books and the flowers,” he said. Crowley opened one eye and waved a hand. “Sincerely.”

“Alright, alright,” Crowley grumbled. “Let it be, angel.”

There was a pause, and Aziraphale sipped his hot chocolate. “Crowley, why do you call me that?”

“Call you what?”

“Angel,” Aziraphale said. Crowley coughed and sat upright, rubbing the back of his head.

“Well,” he said slowly, “you are an angel, right? Makes sense.”

“I don’t call you demon,” Aziraphale said, lifting his eyebrows.

Crowley was silent for a long time before he spoke again, his head tilted down, his eyes hidden behind his sunglasses.

“That’s all,” Crowley said. “No other reason.”

“Ah,” Aziraphale said in that tone he used when he was disappointed with what Crowley had just said but was too polite to show it. “I see.”

Crowley shifted. “Angel,” he began, and stopped. “Thanks,” he said. “For the rock, and the sun.”

“Thank you for the plays,” Aziraphale answered. “They’re breathtaking.”

They stared at each other and Crowley swallowed. “I should go,” he said. He didn’t move.

“You can stay longer, if you like,” Aziraphale said. “I have some books coming later today, as part of a delivery. I could use some help unpacking them.”

Crowley scoffed. “I’m not a pack animal,” he said. “How many?”

“Oh, a whole bookstore full,” Aziraphale said dreamily. “I’ve been saving money since King Arthur.”

“Fine,” Crowley said, “but you’re buying dinner, then.”

Aziraphale smiled. “It’s a date.”

They both stared at each other, the words hanging between them.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Satan bless it, children were a handful. Crowley sprawled in his flat, staring up at the ceiling, a muscle twinging despite his best efforts to dispel the pain of the day. Even though he knew the child was the antichrist, that didn’t make it easier to bear having dirt flung at your face because you refused to give him a piggyback ride. Son of Satan or not, Warlock was, in fact, altogether very human. And humans were tiring.

There was a polite knock at his door and Crowley groaned. “Go away,” he called. Silence followed and he closed his eyes. He was debating the finer points of indulging in a century long nap, Armageddon or not, when the knock came again, this time a bit less polite and a bit more hurried. Crowley opened his eyes and stood, growling. He stalked through his apartment, glaring at the plants that quivered almost mockingly, and threw open the door.

“I said - ah, angel,” he said, his anger dropping away from him with a sickening lurch of his heart. Bless human anatomy, he thought with a grimace. They never had quite figured out to not have a heart in a corporation. Aziraphale shifted from foot to foot, looking every inch the same he had since the 18th century, minus the cravat. “What’s up?” Crowley said, leaning against his door frame. “Dropping the Brother Francis look, I see.”

“And you Nanny Azoreth,” Aziraphale said. “I think we need a bit of a holiday.”

“Oh?” Crowley lifted an eyebrow. “Shirking our angelic, holy duty, are we?”

Aziraphale pressed his lips together and pressed on. “You know as well as I do how much energy we are putting into trying to avert the apocalypse,” he said. “We are working very hard, and have been for the past six years, and I think it is high time that we go ahead and take a holiday.”

“It is harder than I have worked since our little Arrangement,” Crowley agreed. “But where are we going?”

Aziraphale’s grin broadened. “The happiest place on earth.”

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

For the first time in six thousand years Crowley entertained the idea of killing Aziraphale. Sure, he’d get a commendation if he did, and that was always good for getting a couple of decades off the hook. Then again, if he did, the Armageddon would continue unchecked. Besides, Crowley thought, adjusting the ridiculous Mickey Mouse sunglasses that rested on the bridge of his nose, Aziraphale was his friend. Possibly, if he was honest with himself, his only friend. Life would be a lot more dull without him.

Still, Crowley thought as Aziraphale held out a pair of Mickey Mouse ears triumphantly, perhaps it would be worth it.

“No, angel,” Crowley said.

“We’re on holiday,” Aziraphale said. “Or, as Americans say, vacation. In Disneyland. The happiest place on the planet. My dear, really - “

“I’m not going to wear them,” Crowley hissed. Aziraphale shrugged and put them on his head. Crowley groaned and shuffled after Aziraphale, who was heading towards a bench at the heart of the park. A mosquito buzzed around Crowley’s ear and landed on his shoulder. He turned his eyes towards it and the mosquito became the first mosquito in known history to decide not to bite a human body and flew away. “Angel,” Crowley complained, “it’s hot. There’s mosquitos. Everyone is positively dripping with happiness.”

“Oh?” Aziraphale said. He sat on the bench and patted the seat next to him. “I don’t know about that, Crowley.”

Crowley slouched next to Aziraphale, staring gloomily ahead at the screaming children and the cheeriness of the people dressed up as Disney characters. “I do,” he said. “It’s practically a happiness factory. Dreams coming true, roller coasters, fireworks.” He glared at a mascot that was coming towards them and, much like the mosquito, the person in the costume turned to accost someone else. “It’s sickening.”

“Really, Crowley,” Aziraphale said in that tone of voice that meant he was one step away from calling Crowley a fool, but was too polite to ever do so. Crowley’s head lolled to one side as he turned his attention to Aziraphale. “I said it was a holiday,” he said. “It would hardly be a holiday if you didn’t enjoy yourself as much as I have. All those dreams coming true…”

“You know that does nothing for me, angel,” Crowley muttered.

“Yes, well, perhaps this might,” Aziraphale said. Crowley mumbled and slouched further down, glaring at anyone that happened to as much as glance in his direction.

“Angel, can we please go somewhere - “

“My dear, this requires a great deal of concentration and timing,” Aziraphale said. “You’re very lucky that most of Heaven is focused on England right now, or else they would notice what is about to happen. Now, please, let me be.”

Crowley sat up a bit, his interest growing. Aziraphale was indeed concentrating very hard, his eyes closed and his breathing calm. Crowley opened his mouth to speak and was interrupted by a very small but concentrated wave of force that emanated from Aziraphale. It spread past them, pushing against everything in the park. Roller coasters came in to let people off and refused to move again. Carousels came to a stop slowly, the overly cheerful music distorting as the motors died. Ferris wheels (with no one at the top, Crowley would later find out, because trapping people wasn’t part of the plan) came to a shuddering halt. Even restaurants suffered, their food molding and rotten. The entire theme park came to a screeching stop, and where there was once an overwhelming feeling of happiness and joy, there was now a darker feeling, one Crowley was intimately familiar with.

Anger.

He sighed, tilting his head back, tossing the Mickey Mouse shades into the bushes and replacing them with his usual ones. Aziraphale rolled his shoulders and opened his eyes. “Better?” he asked.

“Sardonicism? I really am rubbing off on you, angel,” Crowley murmured. He cracked his neck, revelling in the raised voices of parents and the temperamental breakdowns of the children. “Yes, this is much better,” he said.

“You see,” Aziraphale said with tones of satisfaction, “I wouldn’t make you go somewhere and not do something for you.” His smile faltered. “I mean,” he corrected himself, “not ensure that you enjoyed yourself as well, my dear fellow.”

Crowley was silent, eyeing the distance between them on the bench - so close, yet still somehow too far. He lifted a shoulder into a shrug and waved a hand. A small child, crying over their ice cream melting on the pavement, suddenly had a sundae in their hands. “And I wouldn’t make you destroy so many dreams and not give you the tiniest bit of happiness,” he said, and blessed under his breath; did he have to sound so bloody emotional?

Aziraphale sighed and leaned back, closing his eyes. Crowley followed suit, and basked in the sun and the warmth that it gave him, the mounting fury of millions of people who had paid tremendous sums of money to have their holiday ruined, and the satisfaction of knowing that, yes, Aziraphale was a bit of a bastard.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Aziraphale tidied up the bookshop after the last customer had left for the day, not quite as empty handed as Aziraphale would have preferred. He kept his most treasured books in his back room, hidden from human eyes, but humans had a way of finding the oddest things that he could have sworn he hidden so carefully. He mournfully eyed the empty space where one of his more splendid books had rested and sighed. At least he had made a tidy sum from the deal, and was wondering what, exactly, he could do with it when there was an all too familiar knock at his door.

He walked over and opened it, revealing Crowley, a blur of red hair and clacking boots. “Are you going to wear that?” were the first words out of Crowley’s lips and Aziraphale looked down at his clothes.

“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” he asked. He looked up and his breath caught in his throat; Crowley was wearing a magnificent red suit - artfully undone and rumpled, of course, with a black shirt and a red tie underneath. “Oh,” was all he said.

“We only have five years until Warlock comes into his powers,” Crowley said, “and I don’t know about you, but I’m tired at eating at American themed restaurants and ducking behind water fountains while trailing him.”

“You’re the only one doing that,” Aziraphale said, whose brain had still not moved past the suit. The tie, he realised, was snakeskin, and was loose at the collar. He walked forward without thinking and straightened it, pulling it tighter. He realised what he was doing a second later and took a step back, smoothing down his coat. “Why are you so fashionable?” he asked.

Crowley grinned and presented two tickets. “Someone got mysteriously ill and had to sell their tickets at a huge discount,” he said. “Such a shame.”

Aziraphale sighed and took one of the tickets. “Really,” he chided, “you couldn’t have just bought them when they came out?”

“You’re going to want to change,” Crowley said, ignoring him, as Aziraphale read the tickets. “I don’t think they usually let tartan into the Manchester Royal Exchange Theatre.”

“But snakeskin is perfectly acceptable,” Aziraphale said.

“No accounting for the taste of angels,” Crowley said. “We don’t have much time if we’re going to beat the traffic. The M25 is murder this time of night.”

Aziraphale was still three steps behind Crowley, who was beginning to tap his foot and point to his wrist, where a watch miraculously appeared. In fact, despite his best efforts, he was still focusing on the deep red of the suit and how it contrasted against the black shirt underneath. He dragged his eyes away from Crowley to the tickets and paused. “Hamlet?”

“With Maxine Peake,” Crowley confirmed. “She’s supposed to be quite good. Perhaps not as good as Burbage, but I think that was more my doing than his.”

“My dear,” Aziraphale said. “This is too much.”

“The end of the world is coming,” Crowley said with a half shrug. “What good is it if we don’t at least try and enjoy ourselves a little? Now, again, are you going to wear that?”

And that was how, half an hour later, Aziraphale found himself in a brand new, tan suit with a golden tie in front of the theatre. Crowley was looming over a cowering valet, hissing something that Aziraphale had no doubt was quite threatening and menacing before passing over the keys to the Bentley. Aziraphale tugged at his collar before walking over and smiling brightly at the valet. “I’m sure he doesn’t mean whatever he said,” he said, turning a disapproving gaze on Crowley.

“I absolutely mean it,” Crowley said. “If there’s so much as an atom out of place-”

“Your car will be fine,” Aziraphale said. “Come on, my dear.”

Crowley shot the valet one last withering glare before extending his arm to Aziraphale. “Shall we, angel?” he asked. Aziraphale smiled and placed his hand in the crook of Crowley’s elbow. The taller demon steered them through the crowds, everyone taking one look at him and making a path. Aziraphale half expected there to be flames scorching the ground in Crowley’s wake. He was warm, warmer than usual, and there was a steady heat from where Aziraphale’s hand rested. Crowley’s jaw was set as he brushed past various well dressed people to stop at the front row.

“And here we are,” he said, withdrawing his arm and gesturing. Aziraphale looked at the stage, and then at the middle of the row, where he could plainly see two placeholders with the name Anthony J. Crowley in ornate golden letters.

“You didn’t make someone sick, did you?” Aziraphale asked. Crowley grunted in response and gestured again. Aziraphale walked forward and picked up one of the placeholders, smoothing down his suit as he sat. “You didn’t say we would be so conspicuous,” he said.

“Says the one that shut down Disneyland,” Crowley said, slumping beside him. “Relax, angel. No one’s going to be paying attention to us.”

Aziraphale thought that was a lie. How anyone could not look at Crowley in the red suit and not pay attention was beyond him. Everyone started shuffling into their seats, but the ones around them stayed empty.

“Did you buy this whole row?” Aziraphale asked, leaning closer to Crowley.

“I don’t like being crowded,” Crowley said.

Aziraphale smiled. “Very inconspicuous indeed, my dear.”

Crowley frowned and opened his mouth to speak but the lights dimmed. Aziraphale leaned back into his chair and looked ahead. Crowley was wrong; Maxine Peake was every bit as good as Burbage, with the added benefit of having the history of it swirling around her. In fact, the play was like magic, as sweeping and grand as Shakespeare could have ever wanted. Aziraphale sat on the edge of his seat, enthralled, and so missed the look on Crowley’s face as he watched Aziraphale.

All too soon, the play ended, and Aziraphale joined the standing ovation. He sat back down and sighed as everyone else milled about, chatter filling the air. He snuck a look at Crowley, who was looking down at his feet. “Did you enjoy it?” Aziraphale asked.

“Mm,” Crowley answered. They sat in silence, earning a couple of curious looks from the human couples filtering out around them. Aziraphale twisted his hands. 

“It was lovely,” he tried again.

“Are you ready to go?” Crowley asked, standing and holding out his hand. Aziraphale took it and stood. Crowley’s hand was warm, and soft, and Aziraphale pulled his hand back and smoothed down his suit jacket. 

“You didn’t enjoy it,” Aziraphale said.

“On the contrary, angel, I thought it was magnificent,” Crowley said. “Lift home?”

A beat passed before Aziraphale answered. His eyes flicked to Crowley’s watch and back to his face. “It’s rather late,” he said. “Perhaps we should just go to yours.”

Another beat. “Maybe,” Crowley agreed, wary. “It is closer. And I have a bed.” His ears reddenned.

“Knowing the way you drive, it’s safer,” Aziraphale said. Crowley scowled and Aziraphale smiled. “Plus, you’re right, I don’t have a bed. I have a couch, and some chairs. I wouldn’t mind sleeping in a bed.” He extended his arm with a bright smile. “Shall we?”

Crowley smiled back in that rare, genuine way that he did when he was with Aziraphale. He placed his arm through Aziraphale’s. “I thought you’d never ask.”

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Crowley fumbled with his keys. Aziraphale was behind him, admiring the art decorating the hallway of Crowley's flat's building. Crowley tried to put the key to his car into the lock three separate times before hissing. Aziraphale looked over and Crowley forced a grin. "Just having some trouble remembering which is which," he said.

"I think the one with the green cap is to your flat," Aziraphale said. "That's what you said, anyway." He was blushing and Crowley wasn't faring much better. Really, a night cap shouldn't be this embarrassing.

Crowley tried the key with the green cap on it and the lock clicked open. He sighed with relief and swept the door open with a flourish. "After you, angel."

Aziraphale beamed at him. "I'm glad you're finally inviting me here," he said as he walked inside. Crowley looked around the hallway before following and shutting the door behind him. He left it unlocked and followed after Aziraphale. The angel was admiring all of the plants, touching their leaves, and Crowley glared at each one of them. They all stood up a little straighter and their leaves appeared just a touch greener.

"They are absolutely gorgeous," Aziraphale said. Crowley shrugged once.

"Don't tell them that. You'll make them think that they can rest easy," he said. Aziraphale gave him a look.

"You should really put more love into them," he said. He leaned close to a plant and murmured something quietly. The plant brightened and Crowley scowled at it.

"Angel, don't bless my plants, please," he groused. Aziraphale grinned at him and held up his hands. The plant in question had already started sprouting new growth and Crowley felt a helpless sort of affection. He always felt like he could grow when he was around Aziraphale too.

"How about that drink?" Aziraphale said. Crowley started.

"What will you have?" Crowley said. "I've got vodka, tequila, rum, wine, scotch..."

"Scotch would be lovely," Aziraphale said. "On the rocks?"

Crowley tried to say, "Anything for you," and decided halfway through that it was too sweet. So he tried to say, "No problem," instead. What he ended up with was, "Anything, problem."

Aziraphale paused. "I'm sorry?"

Crowley's ears turned red. "No problem," he said. Aziraphale smiled at him and Crowley's stomach did flip flops. "Make yourself comfortable," he said as he walked through to his office. His hands shook as he picked up his glass decanter of scotch and took off the lid. Aziraphale was in his flat, blessing his plants. Drinking his scotch.

He dropped in two ice cubes, making sure not a drop was spilled. Then he poured himself a shot of vodka and walked back to his lounge room. Aziraphale looked up from another plant, looking only slightly guilty. The plant had flowered a yellow bulb.

"It's beautiful," Crowley said. There was a lump in his throat. Aziraphale beamed.

"What kind is it?" he said, inhaling its scent. Crowley held out the scotch and Aziraphale took it. Their fingers touched and electricity sparked down Crowley's spine.

"A yellow tulip," Crowley said. Aziraphale paused, his glass to his lips.

"I read up on the flower language after you said you created it," Aziraphale said. Crowley choked mid gulp of his shot. Aziraphale thumped him on the back until Crowley took in a shaky breath.

"Oh?" he said. Inwardly he was counting all of the places he could hide.

Aziraphale smiled. "You were very thorough."

Crowley examined his shot glass and vodka filled it to the brim. He was about to down the shot when Aziraphale's hand rested on his wrist. Crowley looked over his sunglasses at Aziraphale. "Angel?"

"I don't think it's that hopeless," Aziraphale said quietly. Crowley opened his mouth to say something and shut it again. Aziraphale placed down his glass and took Crowley's as well. He took off Crowley's sunglasses. Crowley swallowed and his hand shook.

Aziraphale closed the distance between them and kissed him.

Crowley's eyes widened and he pulled away. "Aziraphale," he said. Aziraphale shook his head and drew Crowley back towards him for another kiss. Their lips parted and Crowley's tongue slid into Aziraphale's mouth. The taste of scotch lingered on Aziraphale's lips. 

Aziraphale lifted his hands and cupped Crowley's face. Crowley pulled back again, holding up a hand. "Angel," he said. "Are you sure?"

Aziraphale trailed his fingers down Crowley's cheek. "The end of the world is coming," he said, smiling a little sadly. "I don't have eternity anymore."

Crowley frowned for a moment. It smoothed into a smile as he leaned forward. He stopped a centimetre from Aziraphale's lips. "Might as well enjoy ourselves while we can," he said. In any other situation, it may have been a temptation. But he had promised Aziraphale, and so he waited, eyes unblinking on Aziraphale's.

"Exactly," Aziraphale said. "Indulge in a little temptation."

"Eat an apple," Crowley said with a wicked grin. 

Aziraphale kissed him again and this time Crowley returned it with passion. He grabbed Aziraphale's lapels and pulled, pressing their bodies flush together. Aziraphale melted into him, soft and warm, and Crowley's reptilian brain hummed with excitement.

And his human brain was faring about the same, he found, as little jolts of pleasure from kissing Aziraphale started to settle into his groin. Crowley lifted Aziraphale up and back down onto the couch, clambering on top of him and kissing him thoroughly.

"My dear," Aziraphale murmured in between kisses, "is a couch really-"

Crowley kissed him silent. He nibbled at Aziraphale's lips and Aziraphale hooked his hands underneath Crowley's suit jacket and shirt. He ran them up Crowley's back, dragging the shirt upward and stopping at Crowley's shoulders.

Crowley stopped kissing Aziraphale just long enough to pull his clothes over his head. Aziraphale looked down at Crowley's chest and blushed. Crowley turned red as well and buried his face in Aziraphale's neck.

"You can't be that cute, angel," he said.

Aziraphale hummed and ran his hands up Crowley's sides. "I think you're the one who's cute," he murmured into Crowley's hair. "Look at your ears, my dear."

Crowley growled and bit Aziraphale's neck. He gasped and Crowley did it again. "I'm not cute," he said. "I'm a-"

"Fierce serpent, coiled and ready to strike," Aziraphale interrupted. He pulled Crowley in for another kiss, his tongue sliding into Crowley's mouth. Crowley lost himself in it, clutching at Aziraphale's shoulders. His hips rolled against Aziraphale, who gasped into the kiss.

"You're wearing too much clothing," Crowley said. He kissed Aziraphale's neck before undoing the dress shirt. His fingers fumbled with what could be reached and Aziraphale helped by pulling off his coat and vest. Crowley stared at Aziraphale's arms and ran his hands along them.

"Aziraphale," he said, his voice cracking. "I-"

"My dear," Aziraphale said. "Tell me after we save the world."

He started to undo the buttons of his shirt and Crowley helped. Fingers fumbled in their haste and Crowley pressed open mouth kisses on any part of Aziraphale's chest he could reach. Aziraphale moaned, his shirt half undone and his lips parted. Crowley finished the job and impatiently pulled the shirt free from Aziraphale and began kissing along Aziraphale's chest.

Aziraphale's scent filled him, spicy cologne giving way to that scent Crowley had smelled in the Garden. Book paste.

His heart felt like it was going to explode. He kissed Aziraphale hungrily. Their bodies pressed together and his fingers tangled themselves in the feathery curls.

"Bed," Aziraphale said urgently. Crowley could feel his erection through their clothing and his lips curved wickedly.

"Or we could stay here," he said. His hand slid down to palm at Aziraphale through his trousers. Aziraphale's hips bucked upwards. Crowley pulled the zipper of Aziraphale's fly down and reached in to bring Aziraphale's dick free.

"Crowley," Aziraphale said, panting. "What are you-"

"Putting my talents to good use," Crowley said dryly. "May I?" He posed his mouth over Aziraphale, looking up at Aziraphale through his lashes. Aziraphale blinked before comprehension sunk in.

"Oh," he said. He nodded and Crowley smiled before turning his attention to Aziraphale's dick. He gave the head an experimental lick and was rewarded with Aziraphale moaning.

"Are angels supposed to make sounds like that?" he asked. He ran his tongue up the shaft before Aziraphale could answer. Aziraphale let out another shattered moan and Crowley drank it all in; his angel was wrecked, ready for him. And so he obliged, taking the tip of Aziraphale's dick into his mouth.

"Oh, Crowley," Aziraphale said, thrusting his hips. Crowley took Aziraphale deep, hollowing out his cheeks and sucking. Aziraphale grabbed his hair, yanking on it, and Crowley moaned. "You feel so good," Aziraphale said. "My good demon, my ever-" he cut himself off with a long groan as Crowley sucked again.

Crowley began to bob his head up and down, his nose brushing against the soft, platinum blonde hair around the base of Aziraphale's dick. He hummed, sending vibrations up Aziraphale's shaft, all the while watching his face. Aziraphale was definitely experiencing something; his face was contorted, lips parted. His hips barely contained themselves from thrusting himself into Crowley's throat.

Crowley placed his hands on Aziraphale's ass and drew his hips up. It was encouragement and Aziraphale took it, starting a desperate and fast rhythm that Crowley almost choked on. “Sorry,” Aziraphale said. His hips came to a halt and Crowley whined. Hesitantly Aziraphale started thrusting again. This time his pace was slow, matching the rhythm of Crowley’s head. Crowley’s fingers danced along Aziraphale’s stomach up to his chest and flicked a nipple. Aziraphale groaned and Crowley pinched it, rolling it between his fingers as he sucked again.

“My dear, I’m not sure this body can hold out much longer,” Aziraphale panted. Crowley hummed and sucked again. He moved his other hand around to Aziraphale’s ass and traced his entrance. A quick demonic intervention coated his finger in lube and he pushed it into Aziraphale. Aziraphale’s hands tightened in Crowley’s hair, pulling him closer, and Crowley began to massage Aziraphale’s prostate. Aziraphale moaned and pushed at Crowley’s head. Crowley slid off Aziraphale’s dick with a sucking sound and looked up at him, blinking.

“Something wrong?” he said. His own arousal was becoming difficult to ignore, especially as Aziraphale gave him a half-exasperated, half-loving smile.

“I want to get you off too,” he said. He sat up and kissed Crowley, pressing their bodies together. “I want to make love to you.”

Crowley groaned and pushed Aziraphale back to the couch. “Angel,” he said. “If you call fucking ‘making love’ again, I’m not going to speak to you for a hundred years.”

“It would be rather hard to stop Armageddon if you didn’t speak to me,” Aziraphale said rather primly. Crowley sighed, his glare softening.

“If you want to cum at the same time, that’s fine,” Crowley said. “Just say that.”

Aziraphale shook his head. “I want to make you climax first, my dear,” he said. “Plus, I was keen to see your bedroom.”

Crowley blushed and looked down at Aziraphale’s dick. He licked his lips before standing and holding out a hand. Aziraphale took it with a smile and stood as well. Crowley pulled him in for another hungry kiss, rubbing his crotch against Aziraphale’s erection. Aziraphale pulled away and grinned. Crowley admitted defeat and walked backwards through his apartment, feet weaving around the potted plants. Aziraphale followed, taking in Crowley’s office before passing through to his bedroom. Crowley released Aziraphale’s hand and sat on the bed. He pat the mattress next to him and Aziraphale lifted his eyebrows.

“I have a better idea, my dear,” he murmured. With a flick of his wrist, his trousers and underwear were pooled around his feet. He kicked free of them and motioned to Crowley’s trousers. “If you would be so kind, dear.”

Crowley shimmied out of them, throwing them in some dark corner of his room. Aziraphale looked down and smiled. Love practically radiated from him and illuminated him. Crowley could only stare in awe that it was directed towards him.

“You’re beautiful,” Aziraphale said. He straddled Crowley’s hips and kissed him. Crowley wrapped his arms around Aziraphale’s back and fell against the bed. Aziraphale’s weight settled on him and Aziraphale kissed his neck. Crowley arched underneath him as Aziraphale’s hands went in between his legs, pushing aside the lips of his labia to brush against his clitoral hood. Crowley groaned, bucking into the soft, teasing touches.

“Angel,” he whined. “If you don’t fuck me properly-”

“What are you going to do?” Aziraphale said, kissing Crowley’s clavicle. Crowley wrapped his legs around Aziraphale’s ass and ground against him. “I see,” Aziraphale said with a laugh. His fingers pressed against Crowley’s clit and started to rub circles around it. Crowley kissed Aziraphale’s neck, his shoulders, anywhere his lips could reach. He reached down and grasped Aziraphale’s dick, guiding it towards his vagina. Aziraphale lifted his head from leaving marks along Crowley’s clavicle to kiss him again. Then he pushed his dick inside Crowley’s vagina. Both moaned and Crowley snapped his hips.

“Angel, I want you,” he said. Aziraphale started a slow pace, his fingers still rubbing around Crowley’s clit. Crowley shifted and Aziraphale’s fingers brushed directly across his clit, sending lightning along Crowley’s spine and curling his toes. He squeezed around Aziraphale’s dick, which earned him a gasp from Aziraphale. Crowley pushed himself up to press their lips together, then their tongues as Aziraphale increased the pace of his thrusting. Each thrust hit Crowley’s g-spot in just the right way and soon he was seeing stars with each movement Aziraphale made. His orgasm was close and he bit Aziraphale’s lip, trying to hold it off for just a little bit more.

“My dear,” Aziraphale said, “let it come.”

And so Crowley did. It felt like falling, and rising all at once, a wonderful heat that curled his toes and sent electrical impulses throughout his entire body. Aziraphale pulled out of Crowley and jerked himself off. Crowley regained enough presence of mind to push Aziraphale’s hands away and use his own to bring Aziraphale to orgasm. His fingers lightly ran along Aziraphale’s shaft before applying pressure and speed. Aziraphale hung his head, panting, hands clutched around Crowley’s hips. He came with a shout, coating Crowley’s hands with semen. Aziraphale all but collapsed onto Crowley, who wiped his hands off on the bedsheets before wrapping his arms around Aziraphale.

“Good?” Crowley asked.

“Amazing,” Aziraphale said. He kissed Crowley. “My dear?”

“Yeah, angel?”

Aziraphale smiled, tender and heartbreaking. Crowley ran his fingertips up and down Aziraphale’s spine. “Can I stay the night?”

Crowley huffed. “You can stay as long as you like,” he said. He blushed. “I mean, at least, until tomorrow - we have a lot of work to do.”

“Maybe I’ll bring a few books over,” Aziraphale murmured. His eyelids fluttered and Crowley kissed his temple. “Some spare clothes, for when this happens again.”

Again.

Crowley clung to Aziraphale and closed his eyes, a small smile on his face.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was the end of the world, and they were frozen in time with the Antichrist in between them, and Satan was coming. Crowley looked over at Aziraphale, eyes drinking in the blindingly white wings and the determined expression on his face. The flaming sword in his hand glowed with holy energy, as if it knew it was the last stand.

This was it, he knew. It was now or never, and he took a deep breath.

“Aziraphale,” he said, and both the angel and Adam looked at him. “I love you.”

If you asked Aziraphale later why he said what he said next, he would blush and have no answer except for, well, there was one time in the 1980s where Crowley had dragged him to one of the Star Wars movies. He was crowing about how he had worked so hard to get the creator to ruin the script with poor dialogue over drinks, dinner, and even just outright suggesting it at one point. The demon swore up and down it would create generations of unrest in popular culture, and Aziraphale was in an indulgent mood, so he went with Crowley to the cinemas. They sat in the back, Crowley almost vibrating with excitement over ruining the viewing experience of millions of moviegoers. Aziraphale was more interested in the popcorn, and the soda - magnificent inventions - and the hope that Crowley’s efforts would pay off.

They didn’t, in a most spectacular way. The crowd gasped at Crowley’s “life ruining moment,” as he put it. The princess said that she loved the scruffy one, who said, “I know,” and started a cultural phenomenon. Even Aziraphale had been moved, while Crowley sank into his seat with a vicious scowl and some choice insults about the taste of humanity.

It was the only thing going through Aziraphale’s mind and so he said - rather, he blurted out, “I know.”

And Adam, who was the Adversary, the Destroyer of Kings, the Angel of the Bottomless Pit, the Great Beast that is called Dragon, the Prince of This World, the Father of Lies, the Spawn of Satan and Lord of Darkness, and, in the way that only eleven year old human children can be, a bit of a bastard, said, “Nerds.”

Crowley scowled, and Aziraphale laughed.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> If you're interested at all, these are the meanings of the bouquets Crowley gives Aziraphale:
> 
> Bouquet 1:
> 
> Bittersweets: Truth  
> Birds of paradise: Symbol of faithfulness  
> Coriander flowers: Lust  
> Eucalyptus leaves: Protection  
> Hibiscus flowers: Delicate beauty  
> Narcissus flowers: Unrequited love
> 
> Bouquet 2:
> 
> Forget-me-nots: True love  
> White roses: Innocence  
> Fennel flowers: Strength  
> Lavender: Loyalty, Love, Devotion  
> Eucalyptus leaves: Protection
> 
> Bouquet 3:
> 
> Red Carnations: Admiration  
> Yellow Tulips: Hopeless love  
> Anemones: Undying love  
> Eucalyptus leaves: Protection


End file.
